Merry Christmas, Mr Gambit
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: Fifth in a series. Purdey shares a little Christmas magic with her colleague. Complete!
1. Snowfall

Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Beta-reading by rabidsamfan (with thanks)

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Fifth in a series. Takes place on December 24, 1976, so well after the end of the first season. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, _and _The Anniversary _(which has been revised and relaunched, so you may want to give that a look first)_._

Author's Note: This story is the oldest one I'll ever publish, written in December, 2005, the week before Christmas, and it hasn't really changed much since. It's fluff, quite obviously, but warm, fuzzy fluff, and I have a special place in my heart for this one. I think I got the atmosphere of the season right. I realise that it's September and hardly the most festive time of year, but this is next in the series, and it needed to be posted before going on to the next piece, which will be infinitely longer and hopefully will last me until I have more time to write/edit again. This one's very short, and thus won't last many chapters. There was no arc when I wrote it, so I've essentially built up the rest of the series around it. Perhaps my writing style has changed. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Purdey looked out the window. It was snowing again. Lots of snow in England this year. She didn't mind, though. It reminded her of her childhood, particularly the last Christmas she had ever spent with her father. She had lost him forever two months later. But no matter: she had managed to keep the Christmas memories untainted by those that followed, and her only feelings were of happiness and well-being. All the better to celebrate Christmas.

She followed the lazy path of a snowflake as it drifted toward the earth, glistening in the early morning light. She loved this time of year. All the lights and festivities and decorations never failed to bring her joy—even after that bleak August when she had severed her relations with Larry Doomer and uprooted her whole life in order to disappear. Before the stinging slap on her face reminded her of what the man was capable of. Larry had always said she had a touch of fairy princess, and a tiny bit of it had survived her shattered dreams. She hadn't felt too fairy princessy since that fateful day, but come winter that little piece would spring back into her consciousness, and she could feel it now. That was why she loved the holidays so.

Purdey sighed wistfully and turned from the window. She could have sat with her tea all day and watched the snowfall, but there was much to be done. Today was December 24, 1976: Christmas Eve. Additionally, it was her first Christmas as a full operative with the Ministry. It was hard to believe that a year ago she was still more or less a trainee, doing minor assignments and in the process of finishing her training. That was before sleeper agents and doppelgangers, mad army colonels bent on starting World War Three, and elusive White Rats. Before John Steed, all bowlers and umbrellas, charm and endless quantities of champagne, had asked her to his office and offered her the chance to be part of a team. Before Mike Gambit had locked eyes with her when he shook her hand, and she had felt an almost electric charge pass between them; before friendly karate sessions, and long debates, and dinners, and endless flirtation. Before she had become part of this unit that, in some ways, was an odd little family that helped fill the gap of the ones she had lost, a relationship that was strange and intimate, and which Purdey could never have explained to someone outside the service who knew nothing of the bonds that formed between people when they handed each other their lives out of necessity.

Before…

Now she was where she had always wanted to be, leading the life her father had led. In the thick of excitement, pushing herself physically and mentally to her limits and beyond. It had been quite a year. Only two days ago Steed, Gambit, and she had put away yet another diabolical mastermind planning his rule over England. Thankfully that had been wrapped up by Christmas. She sincerely hoped that all the madmen of the world would postpone their plans until after the holiday. She didn't fancy going out to thwart the enemy on Christmas, especially since she would be spending it at her mother's. Mother would be none too amused if Gambit or Steed showed up on her doorstep, politely asking if her daughter could come out to play spy games when she should by all rights be sipping eggnog with her family. No, she corrected herself, that would only be partly true. If it were Gambit (Steed was considered to be "too old for her" and "a schoolgirl crush"), Mother would drag him inside and start asking rather personal questions of him, such as 'How well do you know my daughter?' and 'Which way did you vote in the last election?' and 'What are you views on the institution of marriage?' and 'When do you think Purdey will stop playing games and settle down?' Purdey could only imagine the answers Gambit would supply her with if he were feeling particularly cheeky that day. She'd never hear the end of how that nice Mr. Gambit was so charming and wouldn't it be lovely if the two of you quit that awful job and got a nice place in the country and come to think of it dear what did he mean when he said he liked your plans for redecorating your bedroom he hasn't been in there has he and are you listening to me dear? She already had more than enough ammunition for the "it's not really proper for a single young woman to have two men popping in and out of your house all the time and calling you by your first name" lecture. "What must the neighbors think?" she often lamented. Purdey didn't know—they'd started avoiding her around the time Gambit carried her out of her flat in her slip. She doubted anyone would buy the curare poisoning explanation. At least no one asked questions anymore.

Purdey sighed. She didn't blame her mother for worrying about her well-being. She was, after all, in the same business that had claimed her father, a fact worthy of anxiety. And after Larry, Purdey had more or less abandoned dreams of motherhood and marriage, at least for the foreseeable future, but she could understand why the former Mrs. Bryde wanted to see her daughter settled down securely with a family, and one or two grandchildren to boot. She had always lamented that naming Purdey after a gun had had a severe impact on her domestic possibilities.

Purdey finished her tea and rinsed out the cup. Twenty-eight and she wasn't raising children but two men with marginal success. She grinned a little and made her way to the bathroom. Slipping off her light pink dressing gown and pajamas, she stepped into the shower and mentally ran through her plans.

Today she was going to a Christmas party hosted by Steed at his country house. Gambit, of course, would be there, as well as the usual leagues of friends that Steed seemed to have in no short supply. This would be her first Christmas party at Steed's, and although she had attended her colleague's fetes before, she was certain that this one would be a tad more…high-spirited. Gambit, having been present at last years' do, had been more than happy to recount his experiences, and Purdey had gathered from the various winks and grins that she would be lucky if she left relatively sober, alone, and able to feel her head the next morning, a notion her colleague likely didn't share, and hadn't experienced either, judging from the self-satisfied look he gave her. She had shot him down fairly quickly, but she'd seen him pocketing his little black book later that day. Damn him, she thought, with more affection than she would have liked.

After leaving—hopefully—solo and sober, Purdey would go to her mother's for the night, and spend Christmas Day with her and Purdey's step-father, the bishop. In the evening she would be attending another party in the area, and would spend the night at her mother's once more. Although she enjoyed the woman's company, Purdey was somewhat dreading the inevitable host of questions. Her previous line of thought returned—_was she seeing anyone special?_ her mother would ask. The answer was always no, no matter how Purdey tried to phrase it. She only had two steady men in her life—friends, colleagues, but not lovers. Steed, although she sensed something between them, had yet to overstep that boundary, and it looked as though he never would. And Gambit, well, there was no future for her with Gambit. Just flirting. He could never give her what she needed.

_Could he?_

She turned the tap to cold.

Stepping from the shower, she grasped a towel, wrapped herself in it, and proceeded to the bedroom to choose an outfit. Selecting a simple white blouse and black skirt, she began to get ready. Steed had asked her to come by that morning and help with the party preparations. First, though, she had to stop by Gambit's and pick up his presents for Steed and herself to place under the tree that evening. Gambit would be out later, but neither she nor Steed knew when. He'd been frustratingly vague on that point. His reasons for not driving them out were equally obscure, but it was a harmless request. Hence, she would take them out now.

Ready now, she pulled on her gloves, and coat, flipped up the fur trimmed hood, and headed out into the snow, glad that she'd subscribed to that neighborhood snow removal service last week. Otherwise those 21 steps would have presented a problem.


	2. Ghosts of Christmas Past

Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Beta-reading by rabidsamfan (with thanks)

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Fifth in a series. Takes place on December 24, 1976, so well after the end of the first season. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, _and _The Anniversary _(which has been revised and relaunched, so you may want to give that a look first)_._

Author's Note: This story is the oldest one I'll ever publish, written in December, 2005, the week before Christmas, and it hasn't really changed much since. It's fluff, quite obviously, but warm, fuzzy fluff, and I have a special place in my heart for this one. I think I got the atmosphere of the season right. I realise that it's September and hardly the most festive time of year, but this is next in the series, and it needed to be posted before going on to the next piece, which will be infinitely longer and hopefully will last me until I have more time to write/edit again. This one's very short, and thus won't last many chapters. There was no arc when I wrote it, so I've essentially built up the rest of the series around it. Perhaps my writing style has changed. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Mike Gambit surveyed the snow with apprehension. Personally, he was fine with it, but he always wondered if the rest of London could handle the slick roads as well as he could. He had driven in more serious weather than this—his last trip to Switzerland came to mind—but he had witnessed more than his share of road accidents around this time of year, and wasn't keen on being involved in any, especially after a long year of car chases, and a history of motor racing incidents. That one at Daytona still made him wince. Bloody seashells. He sipped his coffee.

Christmas had failed to bring any warm-fuzziness to Gambit's life for quite awhile. It was always a bleak time in his childhood, underscored by his father's habit of over-spiking the eggnog to ease his depression and quell the flashbacks, and his ever-strained and tired mother—and the heated midnight arguments that he would desperately try to block out with his pillow. His aunt and her family were the major source of all happy childhood memories, Christmas included, but they could only do so much, and welcome as he was, he never wanted to impose for too long. Since he had returned to Britain in 1973, he had gotten into the habit of spending the holiday season at parties held by friends or acquaintances, usually accompanied by the girl he was seeing. He had also made a habit of dropping by his aunt's to see how she was, and to dutifully accept the present which he knew from experience would contain pajamas. His cousin was often there as well, and they would spend a little time together before going their separate ways. He never went to see his parents, and always made sure his visits to his aunt were never too close to the actual holiday, so as to avoid a chance meeting. He knew his mother would never pursue the matter. He had made his unwillingness abundantly clear. And the day Captain Alan Gambit made an effort to make contact with his only son would likely be marked by hell freezing over. Maybe he could tip the BBC off ahead of time.

The best way to avoid Christmas was to travel. He would escape to a foreign city for a bit, recharge, reflect, and then return to his life of danger and intrigue at the Ministry.

This year was no different. He had broken it off with the brunette he had been seeing, and having visited the only family he wished to see, planned on attending Steed's party, wishing the host and Purdey Season's Greetings, and escaping to a different country soon afterwards. He was going to the Ministry to accept that fairly slack, good relations visit they'd been desperately trying to fill for a month now. The visits were often scheduled to keep goodwill between agencies, and usually involved a couple of meetings, a tour or two, and maybe some sort of dinner, and then left him with rather a lot of free time. There was never any competition—few people were willing to take even the easiest jobs over the holidays. He would drop by the Ministry just as soon as Purdey arrived to take his presents to Steed's. He checked his watch. Purdey would be arriving soon. He hoped he hadn't scared her too much with his description of last year's festivities. She had looked a trifle panicked, but had hid it well. Steed had promised to scale things back, anyway.

Gambit realized that this would be the first Christmas for the three of them as a team. Hard to believe it was almost a year since Steed, more than a bit frustrated with Gambit's loner attitude, had decided what his young partner needed was someone more his equal, to balance out Steed's guiding influence. "A woman," Steed had told him over the Scotch. "Just on the tail end of her training. She's quite talented. I think you'll get on very well." He had protested, of course, but Steed was adamant, his long line of female partners making him rather an expert in the area. Gambit, already unhappy with one partner, was none too eager to take on a second. But that was before Steed had said "Ah, here she is," and he had turned to see the tall, slim girl with the large blue eyes and long blonde hair, who moved with the grace of a dancer, and insisted in that cut-glass accent that he please drop the "Miss Bryde" and call her Purdey. There was equal insistence from the other party that she stop calling him "Mr. Gambit." "Mike," he had offered. They went on that way for the first few days. By the end it was Gambit and Purdey. He remembered Steed looking rather pleased with himself. The elder agent had left them on their own for a few months after that, checking in on occasion. Purdey finished up her training, cut off her hair, fell into an immediately flirtatious relationship with her partner, and quizzed him about Steed constantly. Then came April. The rest was history. Gambit had never looked back.

Gambit glanced at the two wrapped packages sitting on the bar. He'd known what to buy for Steed, but Purdey had proved more difficult. He wasn't used to buying gifts for women that he wasn't either related to or involved with. Purdey, by all accounts only a friend (_so far, blast it_), had proven to be a challenge. He gave her gift another look. His cousin had kindly agreed to wrap it for him on his last visit, and she had done him proud. He sincerely hoped Purdey would like it. He briefly wondered what she had chosen for him. Hopefully not a dog as she had been musing a month earlier. There was something he had no place in his life for, and couldn't return! Not to mention the earful he'd get from Mrs. Bannister, his cleaning lady. If she frowned on his bringing girls home, he could only imagine what reaction a large, slobbering canine would elicit. Of course, if it were an attack dog, that would be a different matter entirely. Alas, he doubted Purdey would be so obliging.

The doorbell rang. That would be her. He set down his cup and saucer, and with long, quick strides crossed the room to admit her.

Purdey stood there, a well-cut long blue coat, complete with hood and gloves, protecting her slim frame from the winter chill outside. She shivered nonetheless.

"It's cold out there," she commented unnecessarily. Gambit could see her cheeks were rosy from the frigid air. Gambit realized that, with the hood hiding the short hair and the black skirt he glimpsed underneath, that she looked exactly as she had when he first laid eyes on her. "I feel as though I've been put on ice," she was saying, unaware of the resemblance. "Now I know how a bottle of champagne feels."

Gambit grinned. "If that's the case, you know I'm always more than happy to defrost you."

She gave him a scathing look and brushed past. "I suddenly have a very good idea where you sit on the naughty and nice list," she retorted, pushing back her hood and shaking out her short blonde hair.

"I see the cold applies to your heart as well," he muttered. She shot him another look but didn't comment.

"You said you wanted me to take some gifts to Steed's." All business. Somehow it didn't surprise him. He didn't know that her shower musings were still on her mind, and that she was doing her best to suppress them.

"Yes. Over there," he replied, gesturing to the pair of wrapped gifts resting on the bar beneath the miniature tree. Purdey went to scoop them up, but paused and chose one of those addressed to Gambit instead. She shook it, listening intently. Gambit, his back to her as he put on his coat, was also listening, and answered the inevitable question instinctively. "Don't bother. It's pajamas. Always is." He turned to face her and gleaned a little satisfaction from the brief look of surprise that flitted across her face. She hid it quickly.

"Your aunt of course. What did you say her name was?"

"I didn't. Hadn't you better get going?" He slid on his gloves.

"All right, Mike, no need to get tetchy," she rebuked, scooping up the gifts.

Gambit immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice. "Sorry," he said softly. "Always a little out of sorts at Christmas."

"Aren't we all?" He gave a slight smile which she returned. They understood each other. They headed for the door.

"By the way," he added, "be careful with Steed's. It's fragile."

"You too? Some sort of drink to make spirits bright?" Purdey asked knowingly.

"Of course. What else do you get—"

"—for the spy who has everything?" she finished. "I know what you mean. It's what I got him too." They stared at each other, pondering the gravity of the situation.

"Do you think he'll mind?" Purdey queried.

"Well, he didn't at his last birthday…," Gambit began.

"Or at that party he threw in November…," Purdey added.

"Or back in 1966, for any occasion, if Mrs. Peel is to be believed." Gambit reached out and caught the box as it slipped from Purdey's grasp. He handed it back to her. "I think we're safe." He gave her a smile and started out the door, Purdey tailing him.

"You didn't really talk to Mrs. Peel, did you? When was this? What did she say? If you're lying, Mike Gambit, I'm going to…"

She didn't take a breath until halfway down the hall.


	3. Travel Plans

Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Beta-reading by rabidsamfan (with thanks)

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Fifth in a series. Takes place on December 24, 1976, so well after the end of the first season. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, _and _The Anniversary _(which has been revised and relaunched, so you may want to give that a look first)_._

Author's Note: This story is the oldest one I'll ever publish, written in December, 2005, the week before Christmas, and it hasn't really changed much since. It's fluff, quite obviously, but warm, fuzzy fluff, and I have a special place in my heart for this one. I think I got the atmosphere of the season right. I realise that it's September and hardly the most festive time of year, but this is next in the series, and it needed to be posted before going on to the next piece, which will be infinitely longer and hopefully will last me until I have more time to write/edit again. This one's very short, and thus won't last many chapters. There was no arc when I wrote it, so I've essentially built up the rest of the series around it. Perhaps my writing style has changed. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Purdey pulled into Steed's driveway, tyres spitting gravel as her car raced toward the house. The senior agent had obviously had someone plow for the occasion. The guests couldn't be expected to wade through snow.

Coming to a stop, she alighted, gathered up her packages, and made her way to the door. Steed opened it before she reached the step, and beamed at her.

"Purdey, my dear. It's so kind of you to assist me in my hour of need," he greeted her congenially, the special brand of Steed exuberance cranked on full.

"You're welcome, Steed, but could you give me a hand first?" Purdey queried, her arms overflowing with packages that she was desperately attempting to balance.

"Of course. Highly inconsiderate of me," Steed apologized, relieving her of some of the burden. Turning to enter the house, he called, "Come inside and you can start with the decorating." Purdey followed.

"Gambit will be along later, I imagine," he mused, setting the packages beneath the tree. Purdey followed suit.

"Yes. Much later. As in after the party has started, and after all the work's been done." She straightened out, smoothing her plain black skirt. "Though I can't imagine what he would be doing for all that time." She paused, as though considering the options. Knowing Gambit… "Perhaps it's better I don't know," she said wryly.

"Oh, it's not what you think," Steed assured her. "He'll be at the Ministry accepting some overseas assignment for the holidays. He did the same thing last year." He paused, considering the living room. "I think we'll have garland over the doorway."

Purdey wasn't listening. "But doesn't he spend time with his family?"

"He doesn't appear to. I don't pry. The garland's over there. I'll put on some festive music." Purdey nodded her approval faintly with a half-hearted smile. Inside, she was wondering about Mike. He obviously didn't feel as though he had any reason to hang about around the holidays. Oddly enough, that hurt her. She tried to shrug the sentiment off, but didn't quite succeed. Even after all they'd been through together this year, he didn't even want to stick about for her sake. _A selfish thought_, she rebuked herself. She was going to her mother's. She wouldn't be around to see him anyway. That made her feel even worse. Between her plans, and Steed's, she hadn't considered where that would leave Gambit for the next two weeks. No wonder he was on edge. All those quips about being lonesome had some merit after all. She knew she should have bought him that dog! She briefly considered inviting him along to her mother's, but rejected the idea immediately. Who knew what the man would say after a few of those infamous spiked eggnogs her family so enjoyed? Plus, with her mother's newfound enthusiasm for weddings, she could easily see herself waking up the next morning after a celebrating a bit too much to find that she had unwittingly become Mrs. Michael Gambit, with her mother looking rather pleased with herself. No, it was too risky. She'd probably like him, and that was dangerous.

But as she picked up the garland and began to decorate, she couldn't help but feel a little melancholy, for her partner and herself, despite the cheerful music in the background.

* * *

Whilst Purdey and Steed were decking the halls, Gambit was being briefed by a rather attractive Ministry operative named Charlotte, about whom Purdey would likely have something snide to say.

"It's New York," she was saying. "The Americans have been wanting someone sent over for awhile now. Just a few things that need clearing up in person. It's only a few days, and they'll be tickled to have someone from Steed's band. He's got quite the reputation over there, you know." Her eyes sparkled. "Ever since that liaison assignment with Mrs. Peel."

Gambit smiled. "I read the file. August '66, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "They were terribly disappointed when she left."

"I've a feeling a lot of people were, including the ones that enrolled after her time. How long should it take?"

"New York? Oh, a few days. Likely a good bit of downtime. See the sights."

"Perfect."

"I can get you a flight out on the 26th."

"Nothing earlier?"

"There is one. Tonight, around 11. Might infringe on that party of yours."

Gambit checked his watch. Steed's party began at seven. If he were there by 7:30, as planned, then he could get a good two hours in, and still have plenty of time to get to the airport.

"It'll be all right," he assured, regarding Charlotte coolly. "Can you make the arrangements?"

"Right away," she offered, "but why you'd want to leave on Christmas Eve…" Gambit glanced at her and she trailed off. Something about his eyes told her the sudden flight wouldn't mean much to him.

"Well, if you'll follow me, we'll get you set up," she said quietly, leading him down the hall.

* * *

Purdey checked the clock. 7:30. The party had already been going for half an hour, and Gambit had yet to arrive. She tried to push him from her mind and concentrate on the story General Peterson was recounting to the small group clustered around. After five minutes, she gave up and casually broke away. No point in standing there daydreaming. Might as well keep serving the champagne.

She was clad in a red, knee-length, off-the-shoulder party dress. There was a red sash-belt around her waist that was tied in a bow at her right hip. She had brought it with her and changed at Steed's after the decorating had been concluded. She sighed. She was embarrassed to admit that she'd been lost for a bit while upstairs. Who knew this house had so many rooms?

The party's host passed her, and Purdey set down her tray and took his arm. Steed turned his head to beam at her.

"Purdey, my dear. Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked cheerily.

"Well, everything's been lovely so far, but Mike warned me that it may not stay that way," Purdey replied, with the unspoken question in her voice. Her host turned mock serious.

"And he was right to do so. You never know when things might become, ah, a little too festive. But I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself regardless."

"I'm sure," Purdey agreed, then knitted her brows in puzzlement. "But where is Mike? He should be here by now." She glanced about the room.

Steed was unconcerned. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. Gambit has never been one to pass up one of my parties. Especially when there's champagne to be had, and such a good year, too." Steed picked up a glass and sampled the vintage, glancing up just in time to see Gambit step in from the cold and hang up his coat. Steed gave his companion a charming smile. "Right on cue," he added as Mike approached them.

"Steed!" Gambit greeted cheerily as he approached, eyes locked on Purdey. His gaze hovered over the bow as he continued. "How did you know? Just what I've always wanted."

Steed followed his colleague's gaze and chuckled. "Not mine to give, I'm afraid, but the consolation prize is over on the table." He spotted some other guests and started to move away. "Help yourself. I'll see you later." He left Gambit alone with his "gift," which was now fixing him with a reproving glare.

"In your dreams, Gambit," she hissed, as she turned to refill her champagne flute.

"You may depend on it," Gambit said quietly, also helping himself to some of the bubbly. Purdey's eyebrows shot up. Mike gave her one of his grins.

"Well, what did you expect? Sugarplums?" he quipped, taking a short sip. Purdey chose not to answer.

"You're late," she commented as casually a possible.

"I was busy."

"I know. Find a nice little assignment in Paris for the holidays?" she asked, with a touch more emotion than she intended. Gambit must have noticed because his gaze shifted from the party to her rather quickly, the way it would when he was summing up his chances against the opposition in a fight.

"Steed told you about my little Christmas tradition, did he?" he murmured. "I didn't think you'd care."

"I don't," Purdey objected hastily. Gambit raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you?" He sipped the champagne again.

"Well, what do you think?" Purdey snapped, hoping to buy some time to rein in her emotions.

"I think you're a terrible liar after three glasses of champagne," he said knowingly. He watched her expression change from panic to mild embarrassment. "I also think you look absolutely stunning." He leaned back to watch his words take effect.

She stared at him a moment, her lips slightly parted, with a faint blush on her cheeks. Could he really read her that well? And it had been four glasses—she'd had one earlier during the decorating, when thoughts of him had kept flitting through her head. Then she pulled herself together and managed to answer him.

"Be that as it may, I think it's sad you don't stay in the same time zone for Christmas. There must be someone for you to spend time with. Family? Friends?"

"I've seen all the family I care to, and, as for friends, I'm seeing Steed and you this instant." He didn't add that a lot of them had met their end that year. Including Spence. But he didn't betray those thoughts.

Another casual sip, Purdey observed. Damn him. She was feeling guiltier than ever. Gambit wasn't close to many people—some of them had died in the past 12 months—and he had made an effort to see all of them. And then everyone would go on to their own celebrations, and he was left on his own. Her guilt manifested itself in annoyance.

"In that case, where _do _you plan on going?"

"New York. At eleven this evening. I'll be leaving a bit before that." He watched Purdey's blue eyes blink in surprise. She had beautiful eyes, he thought, but his musings were cut short by her voice.

"You're leaving tonight?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "On Christmas Eve?" Despite his earlier explanation, she couldn't comprehend how he could entertain such a notion. Leaving on today of all days? Gambit could sense this, and he set his glass down so he could put his hands on her shoulders.

"Look, Purdey. This holiday means different things to different people. For you it obviously means family and warmth, and I envy you for it. But it's never been that way for me, and I've found my own way of coping with it. You're going to have to understand that."

"But—"

"Enjoy yourself at your mother's. That's all I ask."

She nodded slightly, fighting a sudden urge to cry, her blonde hair shining in the light. "Fine," she managed. "Just don't cause an international incident." She grinned in triumph at having the last word, but Gambit was ready for it.

"I was right. Too many glasses. You'd never talk like that if you weren't sloshed." He saw the retort coming, and gave her a quick "Cheers," before hurrying off in the direction of an attractive redhead. Purdey watched him, eyes burning into his back. How could he go from sympathetic to infuriating in such a short time? She downed the champagne and poured herself another. So much for staying alert.


	4. The Perfect Gift

Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Beta-reading by rabidsamfan (with thanks)

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Fifth in a series. Takes place on December 24, 1976, so well after the end of the first season. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, _and _The Anniversary _(which has been revised and relaunched, so you may want to give that a look first)_._

Author's Note: This story is the oldest one I'll ever publish, written in December, 2005, the week before Christmas, and it hasn't really changed much since. It's fluff, quite obviously, but warm, fuzzy fluff, and I have a special place in my heart for this one. I think I got the atmosphere of the season right. I realise that it's September and hardly the most festive time of year, but this is next in the series, and it needed to be posted before going on to the next piece, which will be infinitely longer and hopefully will last me until I have more time to write/edit again. This one's very short, and thus won't last many chapters. There was no arc when I wrote it, so I've essentially built up the rest of the series around it. Perhaps my writing style has changed. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

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It was 9:30 when the party moved to gift-opening. Steed, not surprisingly, received quite a few expensive bottles of liqueur, champagne, and brandy (in addition to Purdey and Gambit's), all of which he enthusiastically accepted.

Purdey received pearls from the senior agent, and Gambit found that Steed had reciprocated his gift with a rather rare Scotch he knew Mike was partial to. And from the lady spy, Gambit received a miniature crossbow, for his ever-expanding weapon collection. She had the courtesy to not wrap it loaded.

It was just as Purdey was about to open her present from Gambit that the man announced he had to leave.

"So soon?" Purdey lamented.

"If I'm going to catch that plane," Gambit told his colleagues, "I've got to go now."

"Then we mustn't delay you," Steed said congenially, as Gambit gathered up his presents.

"Thanks, Steed. And thank you, Purdey. See you when I get back."

Purdey waved and watched Steed show the younger man to the door. The pair exchanged a few words before Mike disappeared into the snow and cold from whence he came. Only then did Purdey turn back to her present.

It was wrapped in gold paper with a matching ribbon. Gambit obviously hadn't wrapped it. It appeared to have more of a woman's touch, Purdey noticed with a little irritation. She had heard Gambit mention someone named Sara to Steed when the latter had opened Mike's gift. She'd have to ask Steed about that.

Untying the ribbon, Purdey pulled away the paper and found a light pink rectangular box within. Lifting the lid, she discovered pure, white tissue paper which, when pushed aside, revealed her gift. Purdey put a hand to her mouth. She couldn't believe it.

A month back, Purdey and Gambit had been watching the house of an agent suspected of leaking Ministry secrets. Situated across the street from his flat was a shop, in front of which Purdey and Gambit made their watch point. On display in the shop window was, among other things, a very beautifully embroidered purple silk scarf. It had immediately caught her attention as it reminded her of a similar scarf that her father had brought her from his travels years ago. It had been lost one day while out boating, and Purdey had always regretted being so careless with such a treasured gift—especially after her father died. She had explained all this to Gambit—after all, they had to talk about something in the car, and after five hours even she was starting to run out of topics. She could have sworn he was tuning her out as he shifted his long legs. After the assignment had been concluded, she had found her way back to the shop, but the scarf had been gone. She'd felt a pang because of it. But here was the same scarf, draped in the box, stirring memories of her youth.

Purdey shot out of her seat, past a surprised Steed, and headed for the door. She hoped he hadn't left yet.

Outside, Gambit had just finished putting the gifts in the back seat of his car when Steed's front door flew open, bathing him in yellow light, and causing the slowly descending snowflakes to sparkle. In the sudden illumination he was blinded, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out the dancer's form that could only be Purdey, framed in the light from the doorway as she hurried toward him, dodging between the dozens of vehicles of the party guests. "Mike," she called. He left his car and met her halfway.

When she reached him, out of breath, he noticed she was clutching the box. Whatever could she want?

"I'm glad I caught you," she said when she reached him. "I couldn't have possibly let you go without thanking you for this." She held up the box as explanation.

Gambit raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting this. _Or were you_, a voice said in the back of his mind, _were you hoping?_

"I'm glad you like it," he said by way of an answer, noticing how her blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Like it?" she exclaimed. "It's the most wonderful thing I've gotten in ages. I can't believe you remembered. I thought for sure you'd—"

"—forgotten?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't forget something like that. Leg cramps make for vivid memories."

She smiled. "I only wish I'd gotten you something that meant as much."

"You did," Gambit assured. "I've been looking for one of those crossbows for ages." It was true. But deep down, there was something he wanted more—much more—standing right in front of him.

"Well, you are very hard to buy for. I mean, you nixed the dog, but you've never told me what you really wanted." _Or had he? _An idea started to form in Purdey's mind, accompanied by a secretive little smile.

Gambit noticed she was starting to shiver slightly, her party dress not providing much protection from the cold. "You'd better get back inside before you catch your death," he murmured. "Besides, Steed'll be wanting you to make the rounds with the champagne again, and if I don't move, I'm going to miss my plane to New York."

She gave a slight nod, seemingly in agreement, but something about how it was executed made him suspect something else was behind it. It was almost as though she were committing herself to some unknown agreement. Who knew with Purdey?

"Yes, well, thank you again," she said softly, eyes dancing.

"You're very welcome," he replied, than paused. A slight smile danced across his face. "Merry Christmas, Purdey," he added warmly.

She moved suddenly, so fast, he had no time to react. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and then, with one hand on his shoulder, placed a light kiss on his lips—brief, soft. She stepped away just as quickly, and with that secretive little smile, began striding back toward the house. Her voice drifted back to him, warm in the frosty air.

"Merry Christmas, Mike."

Once inside, Purdey let out the breath she had been holding. There were only two men in her life: friends, colleagues, and, in some cases, so much more. As far as she was concerned, he—er, they, she corrected quickly—were all she really needed. She went back to the party with a light heart.

Outside, Gambit still stood where she had left him, the snow swirling about. His lips still tingled where her mouth had met his. He smiled. She'd known what he'd wanted all along. He headed back to his car and climbed in, switching on the radio. As soft Christmas music drifted off into the night, he cast one final glance back at the house. _So this is what Christmas is all about_, he mused. Maybe there was something worth staying for next year after all.

With a considerably lighter heart, he started his car and disappeared into the night.

End

Author's Notes: Written two years ago the week before Christmas. I know it's fluff, but it was fun to write, and to see how many Christmas puns I could stick in. Steed's come out sounding more like he was in the Emma era, but it works.

I have no idea if it snowed in '76, or how much snow England gets as a rule. But for my purposes it snows in Avengerland.

Obscure in-joke: General Peterson is named after a character from _I Dream of Jeannie_. And Gambit's dad's first name is, of course, Gareth Hunt's birth name: he was originally Alan Leonard Hunt.

This one accounts for a few things—Gambit's New York trip, and Steed's habit of using Purdey as the drink server. If his birthday parties are high-spirited, I can only imagine what Christmas must be like. Who knows what goes on after Gambit leaves. Of course, he's the one with the handcuffs, so maybe it was mellower that year…

As for Gambit's "gift," I originally toyed with the idea of mistletoe, but that seemed too obvious. Since Purdey did the decorating, she probably hid it all under the bed or something.


End file.
